


Shut Up and Dance

by Bookshido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bartender Reader, Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Girl In Every Port Project, Revised and Released, Whiskey & Scotch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: (Set from season one to the end of season three)Every month for two and a half years, two brothers come into your bar.





	1. Year One

_ March 3rd: _

You’d paid attention as soon as they walked into the empty bar. A pair of men, looking like they had spent the last few days on nothing but the open road and fast food. A pair of men exuding anger, pain, and loss.

The kind of men your mother warned you about. The kind who would leave you in the dust like your father did to her. The kind of men your boss warned you about when you interviewed for a late night weekend shift. With your schoolwork and other job waiting tables, it had been the only shift that you could do while also keeping up on everything else. 

“Remember, Y/N,” he warned after hiring you. “There’s a panic button under the bar that connects straight to the police. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

You were surprised that he had said that, considering that you had never been hit on by anyone other than your now ex-boyfriend. It even scared you a little, but not once in your entire two year stint as a bartender at Satan’s Tap had you ever been frightened enough to slip your hand under the bar and press that tiny red button. 

Sighing, you walked over to where they were sitting at the counter, ignoring the look the shorter one gave you as you launched into your usual spiel. 

“Welcome to Satan’s Tap, where the only thing hotter than our water is hell, I’m your bartender, Y/N; how can I help you boys tonight?” you asked, making eye contact with both of them as you leaned forward. 

The eye contact seemed to make the shorter man back down a little bit, looking away after only a few seconds, but the taller man, the one who looked the most upset, maintained it and made you want to look away. 

“Uh, I’ll have a shot of whiskey,” the shorter man said, shifting on his bar stool awkwardly. 

“And you?” you asked the taller man. 

He looked surprised that you addressed him but looked over the bar and across the alcohol selection. His eyes were a brilliant emerald and looked slightly panicked as he tried to find something.

“Uh, same as him,” he said, turning his head and looking anywhere but at you. 

Stepping back and away from them, you roll your eyes and head back down the bar, listening to the shorter man argue with the taller one about proper flirting techniques. 

When you came back with the shots, you were sure to give the taller man a wide smile. He smiled back and as soon as the shots were downed, they left, roaring off into the night in a big black car and leaving the bar empty. You shut up shop, sighing to yourself.

* * *

 

_ April 2nd: _

They returned next month, roaring in again with the same swagger, this time looking excited to be there and a little happier than before. 

“Hello again,” you called across the empty bar, giving them a small wave.

“Uh, do we know you?” the shorter man asked, looking a bit confused. 

The tall one from before just froze where he was, staring at you with wide hazel eyes as his friend walked up to the bar. You stared back, unsure of why he was so upset. 

The short man turned around and waited, finally having noticed that his friend hadn’t moved.

“Sam?” he asked, giving ‘Sam’ a pointed look. 

“Sorry, Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head and making his longer shaggy hair swish a little, causing you to stare and wonder how his hair look so damn good.

* * *

 

_ May 5th: _

“And then I said,” Dean explained, laughing uproariously. “Why don’t you go catch it yourself!”

You burst into laughter that soon descended from a ladylike giggle to a snorting pig’s one, and then to an evil witch’s cackle. Luckily, both brothers were laughing too hard at Dean’s story to notice. 

The bar was empty again as their laughter echoed in the rafters. That’s how it seemed every time they came.  


* * *

 

_ June 11th: _

“And that is how you pick a lock,” Sam finished explaining as he pushed on the door to your boss’s office. 

It opened smoothly and you gaped at him before cheering and hugging Sam tightly. 

“Oh-my-gosh! Thank you so much for teaching me!” you squealed, not noticing his shock at your hug as you celebrated being able to pick locks. “I always wanted to learn! Now I can get into my apartment if I ever forget my key!”

Sam just smiled and hugged you back while Dean watched with a wry grin.

* * *

 

_ Jul y 4th: _

“IIIIIIIIII-I-I AM HOOKED ON A FEELING!” you belted out with Dean as fireworks boomed outside. “I’M HIGH ON BELIEVING THAT YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH MEEEEEE!”

Sam was watching you and Dean dance on the tables from his usual spot at the bar, cheering and clapping as he watched his handiwork go to good use: he had been the one who fixed the karaoke machine. You briefly made eye contact with him, turning your pointer on him and giving him a huge grin. He returned it, saluting you with his glass.

* * *

 

_ August 1st: _

“Seriously Sammy, stand up straight. No, with your heels up against the wall. Yes, like that; now hold still,” Dean instructed, standing on a chair to compare heights between you and Sam. 

He carefully placed a marker right on top of Sam’s head and marked the wall. He climbed down and returned the chair to one of the side tables. 

“That doesn’t feel like the top of my head,” Sam argued, stepping away and looking at how close your height marker was to his.

You watched the two bicker about height and proper measurement and chuckle to yourself holding up the bottle of their favorite brand of whiskey. 

“Hey, who wants another round?” you ask to break up the fighting.

“I’m gonna need more alcohol before I figure out who the winner is,” Dean grumbled, raising his hand.

* * *

 

_ September 6th: _

“So, where do you go to school?” Sam asked as you both worked your way through a bottle of whiskey and Dean was out front changing a tire on the Impala. 

You rolled your eyes. “The local community college. I want to transfer to the local state branch next year. The teachers here make me want to rip my hair out. I feel like I’m more educated than them at times.”

“That sucks. I went to Stanford and they weren’t much better,” Sam said, sipping his whiskey slower than you were downing shots.

“Well aren’t you the lucky one,” you mutter, finishing another shot and refilling your glass. “I bet you and Dean have a trust fund hidden somewhere.”

“Uh no,” Sam said, looking at you strangely. “I was a scholarship kid.”

“Oh shit,” you say, realizing your faux paus. “I’m so sorry, Sam...”

“No, don’t worry about it Y/N,” Sam assured you, refilling his own glass. “It happens all the time. No, I had to get by on brains.”

He gave you a look like he was smothering laughter and pointed at his head.

* * *

 

_ October 31st: _

“Boo!” Dean yelled when you opened the door to let them in.

“Ah!” you screamed when you saw two terrifyingly dressed people with what looked like real blood on their clothes. 

You quickly realized it was them and punched them both in the shoulder when they passed by. “You two scared me!” 

You spent the rest of the night telling ghost stories by an outside fire, sharing bags of candy and whiskey. 

Of course, the brothers told the best scary stories and had you jumping at shadows as you got home that night.

* * *

 

_ November 19th: _

You were busy putting up football decorations when the brothers burst in like hell was on their heels.

“Whoa, shut the door would you,” you scolded, trying to hold down flimsy streamers while cold wind whistled in. “You’re letting the cold air in and then I’ll have to pay for it.”

Looking slightly abashed, Dean went back to close the door while Sam headed straight for the fireplace. He pulled a pair of knitted gloves off and crouched down, getting his hands as close to the fire as possible without burning. 

After a night of catching up and drinking your way through a bottle of whiskey, you could have sworn that you saw one of the bottles of alcohol shift positions after Dean gave you a quick catch up about the month. But you blinked and it was still. Never mind.

* * *

 

_ December 31st: _

“So, you guys never told me what you do for a living,” you asked them, glancing at the clock as you tried to tune the TV over the right of the bar to see the ball drop.

The bar had TV’s from the 90’s, which wouldn’t have been bad if not for you actually wanting to use them now. The brothers had explained when they arrived that they wanted to have a real New Year’s Eve party, even if it was just the three of you. There hadn’t been many decorations to change since the bar was already decked out from the earlier shifts, but the TV’s remained a constant problem. 

“Oh, well,” Sam began, glancing at Dean. “We-”

“We’re FBI,” Dean said, cutting Sam off and smiled at you. 

“Oh,” you said, surprised, before going back to working on the TV.

Finally, you got it to work and grinned at your handiwork. Albeit, it was a little fuzzy, but the volume was there and you could see the general idea of what was on there. 

“Ready for the new year?” you asked them, hoping down off the chair.

The brothers exchanged looks and tried smiling. You saw that they were less than excited but pretended that their ruse worked. 

“Happy 2006!” you cheered when the ball dropped, popping the cap of a bottle of champagne.

The cap soared all the way across the restaurant and into one of the front windows. Your cheers were interrupted by the crash of breaking glass and Dean and Sam howling with laughter as you gasped in shock at the new damage.

* * *

 

_ January 24th: _

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Dean, happy birthday to you!” Sam and you sang, clapping and cheering when you finish the song and Dean blew out the candle that you stuck in a pecan pie.

“You really didn’t have to do this Y/N,” Dean said bashfully, noticing a gift sitting on the edge of the table. “Seriously.”

“But you're my friend,” you said with a smile, pushing it to him. “And you deserve this.”

The best memory of all of the visits was the look that Dean had when he realized that you had given him an entire bottle of champagne as a gift.

“No way!” he exclaimed, pulling the bottle out. 

“Yes, way,” you assured him, unable to stop smiling now.

Under the table, Sam’s hand found yours. You looked at him sharply, but the smile never left and you took his hand gently. Both of you looked back at Dean, who was reading off the label, looking for the alcohol content.

* * *

 

_ February 14th: _

“I can’t believe you guys came for Valentine’s Day!” you exclaimed when you ran outside to greet them. 

You’d heard the rumbling of the Impala a minute earlier and bolted to the door, determined to greet them first. Normally, you weren’t competitive, but this had been a thorn in your side for a while. They always managed to get to the door first, but not today.

“Well, we had to stop by,” Dean said, holding his arms out as you walked over. 

You smiled knowingly and hugged him briefly before hugging Sam perhaps a little too long. Dean cleared his throat and you stepped back, clearing your throat.

“Well, I have kisses for both of you,” you announced, making them both look surprised. Dean’s surprise turned to a wide grin and Sam looked like he wouldn’t mind at all.

“Not those,” you scolded, shoving Dean a little when they went inside. “Hershey Kisses. I only kiss after I’ve been taken out to dinner. ”

* * *

 

_ March 3rd: _

“Here’s to one year of monthly visits from my best pals,” you announce, raising your glass high. 

“Here here,” Sam slurs, raising his glass and nearly splashing Dean with whiskey.

“Lightweight,” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes and drinking his seventh shot.

You followed him with your own shot, gasping and then whooping at the burn.

“You’re turning me into a whiskey girl, Dean,” you told him, pointing at him accusatively. “But I love it!”

Dean started snickering and the laughter was contagious to the point of you doubling over with laughter. Both of you didn’t even notice Sam had passed out until he slipped off his chair and to the ground with a crash.


	2. Year Two

_ April 1st: _

You waited and waited and waited. There was no sign of them. They’d sent you a text, claiming that they were an hour or two out.

You stayed at least an hour past the end of your shift (3 am) even making an excuse about a final clean up to make sure your boss didn’t come in early. 

Finally, at five in the morning, right as you were locking up, the big black beast came roaring up to the bar with two brothers who were grinning like they had won the jackpot. You greeted them with a grin, raising a bottle of whiskey high, just in time for the bottle to catch light as the sun started to rise. 

“Morning, boys,” you called, lowering it and embracing them. 

* * *

 

_ May  2nd: _

“FOR HE’S A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW, FOR HE’S A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW, FOR HE’S A JOLLY GOOD FELLOOOWWW, AS NOBODY CAN DENY!” you and Dean belted as Sam sat across the table wearing a paper hat. 

You were both so loud that you were a bit nervous that the guard dog next door was going to start barking. Dean and you both whooped when you finished singing and started to applaud.

“Happy birthday, Sam!” you cheered, handing him a wrapped present.

Sam tore into it eagerly, pulling the gift free. He gasped lightly and started to thumb through the book. Dean gave you a curious look.

“A copy of the Adventure of Sherlock Holmes,” you explained, turning your attention back to Sam. “I bet it gets hard having to be on the road all the time with Dean.”

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed, scowling playfully before downing a shot. 

“Thanks Y/N,” Sam said, getting up and hugging you. 

You hugged him back, letting go after a few seconds, remembering the look Dean had given you a few months ago.

“Don’t mention it,” you said, hoping your cough would hide the change in pitch.

* * *

 

_ June 4th: _

“Sorry Y/N,” Dean apologized when they walked in. “We can’t stay for long. A big case just came up and we’ve gotta get a move on.”

“Oh, okay,” you replied, unable to hide your disappointment. 

You put on a smile and hold up the three shot glasses you had all used over the past year and a half.

“Just one for the road?” you asked, pouting a little. “Nothing too extreme, I promise.”

With a shared glance, you knew that they were going to say yes.

* * *

_ July 7th: _

“Sorry we couldn’t make it for the firework display this year,” Dean apologized when they came in that month. 

“But we brought something just as good,” Sam promised, pulling a large plastic bag from behind him. 

Dean reached in and pulled out a large box marked ‘TNT: America’s Fireworks.’ You gasped in surprise and gave them huge grins, pulling your keys to the bar out. 

“Lemme just lock up,” you promised, jogging to the door. “I know just the place we can set them off.”

You spent the rest of the night in a nearby field, setting off fireworks until it got too cold. They drove you home, something you’d refused to let them do for lack of trust. But now they certainly had earned the right to know more about your personal life.

* * *

 

_ August 7th:  _

“I don’t know what to write,” you whined, pushing the laptop back towards Sam. “You went to Stanford; what do they look for in applicant essays?”

Sam pushed it back, chuckling. “Write about your parents. That’s always a good topic. It’s how I got in. It’s just five hundred words; you can do this.”

You grumbled again, but pulled it back, working throughout the night to the yells of ‘Bullseye!” as the brothers shot dart after dart after dart.

* * *

 

_ September 10th: _

“Okay, listen to me, Christie,” you instruct your new shift mate, checking your watch every few seconds. “If you want to leave early every night, fine. I’ll say you were here. But once a month, I work the shift alone, alright?”

She shrugged, unpinning her name badge before you’re even done speaking. 

“Whatever, Y/N,” she muttered, tossing it to you and brushing shoulders with Dean on her way out. 

He turned when she went by and stared after her, taking in her attractive blonde self for a moment as she peeled away from the curb in a cherry red Mustang convertible.

“Who’s that?” he asked when Sam and him came all the way inside and shut the door

“Oh, just the new help,” you said with a shrug and a smile. “Don’t worry, nothing’s changing with our usual nights.”

* * *

 

_ October 31st: _

After shooing Christie out, you get everything ready, vowing to scare the brothers this year. They’d already called ahead to say that they were going to do the same thing as last year. Fire pit, candy, whiskey.

You wait with a mask and jump out at them when they come in, barely eliciting a look of surprise from either of them.

“What? Like you’ve seen scarier?” you joke, not seeing the exchanged glance between them as you headed back to the bar to get the drinks.

* * *

 

_ November 23rd: _

“I can’t believe you got us a Thanksgiving dinner,” Dean exclaimed when he came inside. 

A few tables were pushed together with a cheesy red checked tablecloth and several faux metal containers. There was also a small vase with a solitary daisy standing in about an inch of water as the centerpiece.

“Well…” you said, embarrassed, lifting the lid on the ‘turkey’ platter. It was a plate of fried chicken. “Not really.”

Dean still gaped, while Sam chuckled and went to grab a seat. 

“I know it isn’t the best,” you said, but Dean cut you off with a rib-crushing hug. “Oh-Dean-”

“Sorry, but…” he said, trailing off as he released you. “This is... It’s really nice.”

* * *

 

_ December 26th: _

The boys stumbled in that night looking like they’d been through hell and back in one go. That worried you.

“Hey boys,” you called, finishing wiping up the bar and basketball shooting the rag into the rag bucket. “How’ve you been?”

Dean gave you all the gritty details of the month, how they’d tracked down a serial killer and taken him out, as you and the boys worked your way through half a bottle of their favorite whiskey. As Dean talked and talked about how they had to snipe the guy, you could have sworn that Sam’s whiskey glass shifted without him touching it. It had to have been a trick of the light and when your gaze lingered on him, he didn’t meet your gaze.

“So, I didn’t get in,” you said, clearing your throat and looking away.

Sam’s head shot up and he stared at you in shock. 

“It’s alright,” you promised, smiling sadly. “If I got in, that would mean I’d have to leave. And then what would happen to our drinking nights?”

“Here, here,” Dean agreed, raising his glass with a sad smile. “Sorry, not sorry, right?”

“Yes,” you agreed, downing your cup. 

* * *

 

_ January 13th: _

“So, why did you still let us hang around with you every month?” Dean asked, pouring the contents of a flask into his cup of hot chocolate. When Sam was looking the other way, he poured the rest of the flask into Sam’s hot chocolate.

“I nearly didn’t,” you said, pretending that nothing was wrong when Sam took a sip of the hot chocolate. “I nearly pressed my panic button when you first walked in.”

Sam choked and began spluttering, making Dean have to clap him on the back a few times. Whether it was from your panic button or the alcohol, you’ll never know, but the look on his face was priceless.

“It was him,” you exclaimed when he recovered and scowled at you.

“Snitch!” Dean exclaimed in reply, pointing at you dramatically. 

* * *

 

_ February 15th: _

“AND IIIII-E-IIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU,” Dean belted, his voice nearly cracking as it soared over the notes to try and go as high as he could.

Dean was just taking a breath to continue the lyrics when Sam got up from his seat and stepped onto the stage, stealing the mike from his brother.

“Bitch,” Dean muttered as he jumped off the stage and returned to the seat next to where you were sitting. 

Giving Dean an apologetic look, you shoved a shot glass at him. He took it thankfully and poured a shot quickly as Sam flicked through the song list. He finally chose one and grinned at Dean. He hit the play button and waited for a few moments as early 2000’s music started playing. The tune sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place it until...

“You might been hurt, babe,” Sam sang, shifting from an awkward, stiff position to a smooth, almost perfect Justin Timberlake finger swing. “That ain’t no lieeee…”

Your laughter echoed through the rafters and after a few seconds, you jumped up, mirroring the dance moves that Sam was performing.

* * *

 

_ March 3rd: _

“To two years of general chaos!” you cheer, raising your whiskey glass in a toast.

“To two years of whiskey,” Dean chimed in, raising his glass. 

“To two years of…” Sam said, trailing off slightly as he raised his glass. “Whatever the hell this has been…”

You all took deep sips (Dean drained his glass) and stared at each other for a few moments. 

“You know, the whole time I’ve worked here, I’ve never had customers that I thought of as friends,” you said slowly, shifting the glass in your hands. “Let alone ones that I’d drink with.”

Dean and Sam stayed silent and you sighed, taking another deep sip. 

“Thanks for making the late shift a little more exciting, boys,” you finally said, raising your glass in cheers to them again. “I’m so glad to have met you.”


End file.
